


Pride of London

by Jadesfire



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-18 02:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesfire/pseuds/Jadesfire
Summary: "Not exactly a welcome committee," Nightingale muttered under his breath.As we got closer, I could see across the drawbridge to the floodlight walls."I think they might be a bit distracted," I said. "By the elephant."





	Pride of London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Franzeska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Franzeska/gifts).



As the largest police force in the UK, the Met receives on average over forty thousand non-emergency 999 calls a year. They vary from drunks locked out of their houses, to people complaining about the number of sprinkles on their ice cream. So when the call came in about the polar bear, it was pretty much put in the 'fictitious' folder, and seemed doomed to become part of the great statistics pile that the PR department use every year to encourage people not to waste police time.

Then they got a call about the baboons. Luckily, instead of being a general emergency call, someone had the sense to call the local nick instead. And the person answering the phone had actually been trained in Falcon protocols, and passed it on to us.

"Normally it's someone who thinks a big dog is a wolf or something," the PC on the other end of the line said, "not monkeys. And about twenty minutes later, there was another one about lions."

It can take anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour to drive from The Folly to the Tower of London, depending on the traffic. At midnight, the roads were pretty empty, but it still took us nearly ten minutes to work out where to park. We could have taken the Tube, but if things dragged on, we'd miss the last one home, and my brain couldn't quite put together the image of Nightingale and a night bus. So parking it was, even at City of London prices.

There was a little gaggle of uniformed police waiting for us on the main plaza, none of whom seemed to be looking out for the people they'd called to actually deal with their problem. Instead, all of them were looking over at the Tower.

"Not exactly a welcome committee," Nightingale muttered under his breath. 

As we got closer, I could see across the drawbridge to the floodlight walls. 

"I think they might be a bit distracted," I said. "By the elephant."

Twenty minutes later, we were being admitted through a gate by a Yeoman Warder, who look a bit different once they're out of their big coats and funny hats. Despite it being being a Historic Royal Palace, and one of the top tourist attractions in London, over fifty people actually still live in the Tower, consisting of the Governor, his staff, the Chaplain, the Doctor and the Yeoman and their families. Of course, at midnight, most of them were tucked up in bed where they should be, not roaming around the walls looking for ghostly animals.

"Definitely ghosts," our guide said. He'd introduced himself as Sergeant Roy Dormer, former Marine and current Chief Warder. "And not the usual ones either."

He led us through into the central area of the Tower, a large green with the White Tower, the oldest part of the fortress, looming over everything.

Nightingale took a few steps away from us, turning in a slow circle. "No point searching for vestigia," he said. "Are all the ghosts animals? The new ones, I mean."

Roy scratched his beard. "More or less. We've had a few reports of sightings near the entrance, which is weird. Most of the ghosts around here seem to stick to the towers or the green. That's where most of the executions were," he added helpfully.

Looking around and trying to concentrate, I understood what Nightingale had meant. Stone retains vestigia better than any other material, and traumatic events imprint more strongly than everyday ones. Trying to pick up vestigia here would be like trying to find a single flower in a florist's shop just by smell. 

"What did the reports from the entrance say?" Nightingale asked. He was tapping his cane on the ground thoughtfully, as though listening for something in the echo. "More animals?"

"No, that one was a bloke," Roy said. "A couple of visitors said they saw someone waving at them, while another Warder saw him a few weeks' ago, staring at the stonework."

"Did you get a description?" I asked.

"Not really. There's not much light back there to see by. Maybe Victorian, which is a bit weird. We don't have as many of those as you might think."

Nightingale was shaking his head. "The vestigia in this place is enough to keep an army of ghosts fed for centuries. I fear-" 

Whatever he was going to say was lost as something stalked out of the shadows opposite. Unfocussed at first, like a rising bank of fog, it gradually resolved itself into the shape of a huge cat, which started growling as it came towards us.

"Er," Roy said. "Do you-"

"We see it." Instead of moving away, Nightingale took a step forwards, although I noticed that he adjusted his grip on his cane. He planted his feet as the ghost started a loping run, still growling. It was too insubstantial to tell properly, but my guess was a lioness, who was apparently feeling territorial.

With a final snarl, the lioness leapt, straight for Nightingale's face. He flinched a little, but otherwise didn't react, letting it pass through him and land, crouched behind him. Roy had backed away, and I was tempted to join him against the wall, when movement from above caught my eye.

"Sir?" I called, nodding upwards. "More incoming." 

The baboons leapt down, calling and hooting to each other. They danced around Roy, whose back was now firmly pressed against the stonework. 

"Well, most curious." Tilting his head a little, Nightingale looked from the troop of monkeys back to the lion, who'd settled on the ground, still growling menacingly without actually looking like she was going to pounce again. On the hand, maybe that was what she wanted us to think.

"That was an elephant at the main gate, lions under the arches, and monkeys on the walls," I said. "So where's the polar bear?"

Roy was looking at us both as though we were even stranger than the ghostly animals around him. "What?"

"Someone reported a polar bear in the Thames earlier in the evening," I said. "999 thought it was a prank call, or someone getting confused."

"Under the circumstances, I think it is safe to say they were neither of those." Tapping his cane again, Nightingale shook his head. "But why now? The menagerie of the Tower closed last century. While it is not surprising that there might be some remnants of that still, it does seem strange that you have not noticed them before. And that they would manifest so strongly."

I'd pulled out my phone and done a quick search. "The menagerie closed in the eighteen-thirties," I said, scrolling through the Wikipedia page.

"So they've had over a hundred and eighty years to make themselves known." Nightingale turned to Roy. "Tell me, Sergeant, how many of the Tower ghosts have you seen?"

It seemed to bring Roy back to himself, and he edged cautiously around the ghost baboons, who'd settled on the grass and started to groom each other. Once he was safely on our side of the troop, he relaxed a little, settling back into what had to be his 'tour guide' voice. "Let's see," he said. "There's Queen Anne Boleyn, out on the green. You see her a lot. And Miss Arabella, as my wife calls her, who died in the Queen's House. Gary swears he's seen the little Princes, but no one else has, and of course there's the White Lady. I've picked up a few others wandering around, but none I could really name." He'd been counting on his fingers. "So, probably about six."

"Any ravens?" Nightingale asked, glancing at the lion, who seemed to have lost interest and settled down for a doze.

Roy shook his head. "Not that I've seen. And the Raven Master's never mentioned any."

"Very well." Gesturing for us to follow, Nightingale started to make his way around the White Tower, glancing up at the window as he did so. "We should see if there are any other creatures elsewhere."

I started my career with the Folly by interviewing a ghost. I've dealt with a revenant, _genius loci_ , jazz vampires and fairies, and it's safe to say that I don't scare that easily. So I'm blaming the fact that I turned a corner and nearly jumped out of my skin on the sheer amount of vesitigia that we were surrounded by and not the spooky atmosphere of a dimly lit castle at night. Although that might have made it worse, and caused me to actually yelp aloud.

"Peter?" It's rather comforting that Nightingale takes me seriously enough to assume I'd be jumping at something real. I heard him come up behind me as I was peering into the darkness, trying to make out the shape of the thing that had startled me. He swatted away my hand as I went to conjure a werelight. "Best not to feed the animals," he said with a grin, producing a torch from his coat pocket instead.

He ran the beam of light over the shape in the darkness, which resolved itself into a sculpture, and rather a good one at that. It was the head of an elephant, protruding from an archway with its trunk raised and ears forward.

"Oh, yes." Roy joined us, leading the way towards the steps so we could get a better look. "They put these in a couple of years ago. Way of commemorating the menagerie. They're all over the place."

Even in the dim light, Nightingale and I exchanged a look. 

"Are the others, by any chance," I said, "a polar bear, a troop of baboons and a lion?"

~~~

"On the plus side," I said, as we looked down on the dark water from the Tower's curtain wall, "at least the actual sculptures didn't come to life."

"Your ability to find the positive in any given situation is a remarkable personality trait." Leaning forwards, Nightingale shook his head as the polar bear surfaced, shaking ghostly water from its ears. "Although you do also raise a rather alarming possibility."

"You mean, they could actually come to life? That's a thing?" I looked a little nervously over my shoulder at the three lion sculptures below. 

"Ordinarily, I would not have said so. But recent times have shown me that I should expand my ideas of what can and cannot happen. Still, it seems unlikely that the animals would manifest in both forms."

"Unless someone wanted them to."

We both turned, and I was sort of relieved that this time that I managed not to jump out of my skin. The man coming along the walls towards us was wearing a dark frock coat and an impressive walrus moustache. He stopped a few feet away, leaning against the parapet and looking down at the river with a satisfied smile. 

"And you are?" Nightingale said, but I already had the answer to that one.

"Alfred Cops," I said. "Last keeper of the Royal Menagerie."

The man tipped his head from side to side, still smiling. "At the moment."

He wasn't a ghost, I knew that. There was an air of energy and power rolling off him that ghosts simply didn't have, or they wouldn't be drawn to feed on magic. The sense of energy about him was quite different, and somewhat familiar.

"Wonderful," Nightingale muttered, although probably quietly enough that only I could hear him. Both of us knew that you didn't upset a _genius loci_ while you were standing right on his manor. "Are we to assume that you are responsible for tonight's events?"

"Indirectly, I suppose. Recent interest in the menagerie has certainly made it easier. But with so many sources to feed on, it was really only a matter of time."

I glanced at Nightingale, who must have had the same alarming thought that occurred to me, except he hid it better. If the ghosts had been able to come through because of the additional interest of thousands of tourists, as Roy had told us that the sculptures were to be a permanent part of the Tower for the foreseeable future, we could be in for a lot more of this. At one point, there had been over two hundred and eighty animals in Cops' Royal Menagerie. It didn't really bear thinking about.

As though reading our minds, Cops laughed. "Yes, my friends. It has taken time to build up enough strength for my pets to show themselves. Tonight is the first night where they have been able to manifest. But it is not the last."

Nightingale frowned. "You are aware of The Agreement," he said. "Of the balance that must be kept, and which we must all maintain?"

For answer, Cops gestured towards the White Tower and the green beyond. "Surely you are not suggesting that the Tower of London is unable to contain more ghosts. I would have thought that with so many already present, a few more will make very little difference."

"I think we're suggesting that if you plan to let them all show up, it's going to be standing room only," I said, making Cops laugh again, and Nightingale shoot me a glance.

"We are also suggesting," he said, a little forcefully, I thought, but then I'm the one who's actually done the conflict resolution training, "that they will become unacceptably conspicuous."

"They took them all away," Cops said, and if he was a drunk on a night out, it would have been a non-sequitur. When supernatural entities said things like that, I'd learned to listen to what they meant, rather than what they actually said. "All my lovelies. Took them all away to that horrible place in the park." He looked past us, as though he could actually see all the way to Regent's Park and what would become London Zoo, where the last remnants of the menagerie had been taken.

He sighed. "I built this collection from almost nothing, you know. And even when they took all my lovelies away, I was allowed to stay on. They thought it was charity, but being here without them, it wasn't the same."

There was genuine sadness in his voice, of someone who'd seen his life's work and meaning taken away from him, and who'd been left alone with just the memories.

It all cut a little close to home, and I shook my head to clear the mental image of Nightingale, standing alone in the Folly atrium, knowing that no one else was coming to join him. Because that wasn't true. He'd had Molly, and now he had me, and slowly, he was starting to rejoin the world that he thought he'd left. He was not going to become the _genius loci_ of The Folly. I wasn't going to let him.

"What about," I said slowly, knowing that this was going to be one of those ideas that Nightingale was going to hate, "if we could come to some kind of arrangement?"

"Like The Agreement?" Cops said, sing-songing the words sarcastically.

"The Agreement is clear," Nightingale started, but I cut across him, making a mental note to apologise later. 

"Sort of." I glanced down at the lion sculptures below, then back at Nightingale. "Think about it, sir. We have Toby."

"I fail to see-" Then he got it, and pressed his lips together. 

"After all," I said, "pets are supposed to be good for you."

~~~

"I am still not convinced that this is a suitable idea at all," Nightingale said as we made our way back to the car park.

"Look on the bright side, sir. The elephant's gone."

"For now." Even so, he glanced over his shoulder, double-checking. "It will need careful monitoring."

"Roy can do that for us. And you have to admit, Cops worked hard to restore the Menagerie. It was pretty harsh just to take it away from him."

"Given the subsequent success of the Royal Zoological Society," Nightingale observed dryly, "I find it difficult to sympathise. And let us hope the current arrangement is satisfactory."

"I'm sure the novelty will wear off soon enough," I said. "And he did look pretty happy."

We'd left Cops with his little menagerie, a clearly drawn map of which areas of the tower they could inhabit (was 'inmortit' more appropriate for ghosts? I'd have to look it up), and a list of times they were allowed out. Nothing outside the curtain wall, nothing where a passing tourist might get a shock, and no keeping the Warders up all night. With the ravens off the green and in their cages overnight, Cops' pets would have somewhere to roam, and hopefully it would stop him looking for more entertainment. In return, no one would try to take the sculptures down, and we'd put him in touch with Mama Thames, who I was also pretty sure would keep a wary eye on him. 

"He isn't actually Cops, you know," Nightingale said, pausing at the car park entrance. "He'll use that persona until he gets bored, and then there will be something else that he wants."

"And that time, it might be easier to negotiate him down, because we let him have his way this time. And honestly, sir, what were we going to do? Impound a bunch of ghostly animals? Send them to London Zoo?"

"I don't think the keepers would thank us for that." Sighing, Nightingale gave the Tower Gate one last, long look. "I suppose you are correct. And perhaps in time, once the novelty has worn off, there will be less vestigia for them to feed on."

I raised an eyebrow. "In a place like the Tower of London?"

"Perhaps not." Turning back to me, he gave me one of those smiles that, while never unpleasant, never bodes well for my future either. "I believe we will simply have to add regular checks to your duties."

Great. I rolled my eyes and followed as he pushed the door to the stairs open, resigning myself to being the first Ghost-Inspector of the RSPCA. Although in this case, it might be something of a relief if they simply stopped appearing, rather than a sign that something awful had happened. I spared the Tower one last look before hurrying after Nightingale, and wasn't entirely surprised to see a ghostly trunk waving over the battlements.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Pride of London](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816386) by [sisi_rambles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisi_rambles/pseuds/sisi_rambles)




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